Journal of Callo
by Principius
Summary: This is the fevered journal of Callo, a Khajitt imprisoned in a Vogon madhouse. I don't see it is as a crossover, because we don't know who the Vogons are and maybe it is all his imagination. So it is a madstory.
1. Chapter 1

I wrought in a complete win-win constellation of advancements the certainty of this world. From now on, it seems, I tell my story.


	2. Chapter 2

I am Death. I seems I am biding my time. Why I worry, seemingly, I don't know. Hatred comes in times of disturbance and disruption: that way, we are being led to hate.

Now, in a way, this one has become more than a mere mortal, for Death, surely, is mortally born, yet his mind has made him free of all that crap; and this, my friends, freed him. Truly, we realize this soon enough: the man who works to overcome his troubles, lives now, he lives forever. This, man, is the limit of our truth, because we get it, more than others. In this way, it seems, I have to take account of all the vague crap that people throw my way. Hatred you said, but it is clear that it is not that simple: we are, seemingly, caught in a strange trap, were, seemingly, the very ones thrown in this deep trench, wherefrom nobody escapes – and our sense teeters on the brink of nothingness. Callo, I call myself.

Yeah, truly the very idea of time is a constellation in which I have found little to no real satisfaction. This is the reality, man, to which people are so totally insensitive; and that is seemingly the truth, man. So I am here, alone, writing words to honor the kill of the letter, that we know exists, because of something vague or indiscriminant in our manner, and this, then, alledgedly, brings us into true madness, or rather it can't be real in a total or wretched sense: this is, then the whole factuality, that we must regard as the truth.

The fascination I feel for what something we can understand. This, truly, is a seeming impossibility, Lord. I am so very unreligious, in fact. I told you that I have people, but truly, it is not completely the way it is. That isn't the most important thing for Callo. Ye, ja, here I am being improvisorily a member of my little thought-world, that truly does me very little. This is what I have made for myself, in so many ways. It doesn't bother me too much. Even though I have such great plans, they always failed in the past, and I doubt this one will be a much greater success. I now realize that I barely know who I am. Living in nowhere is a serious problem. I am so limited in what I do, that I am just. The complexity of the whole world is a great mystery to me. I must accomplish things that I can barely get, because it really doesn't matter: clearly, I am done. But in our life we get the chance to contribute one or two things to the world, and that is find of what Callo has done. To succeed in the world, truly, I always kind of believed that I could just try my best; but I realize now, it is not necessarily worth it. I wish to move to a land nearby, but bad people have imprisoned me. The whole world, seemingly, is against me, but we will decide what is best for me. I am no king, and truly, I know that they all try to keep me from being myself. But I am myself – Callo – and nobody can change that. If they can't accept that, truly it is not my problem. It seems they can get away with it. All that I can do is waiting.

I look around me: liars, fools, whores and monsters. This is what passes for people nowadays. My mother used to tell me that there was so little to live for. She made solid arguments to poor Callo, who now lives alone, but no friendless, in a sea of despair, but never losing hope. In the desert, where I am from, she revealed, the time stops to really exist.

There is seemingly no real end to life. We are survivalists. That is a sentiment that holds us in good stead: though we slave, at least we live. If we don't give up on basic life, truly, we must always persevere. My uncle taught me that we must endeavor to persevere. I enjoy life a lot. It is truly exhilirating. Callo is used to fighting. I am so aggressive, and that's what I said. Everybody lives in complete denial, or so forth.

I see that no one really sees what I go through. In this so-called world in which I am forced to exist, I slowly store up treasures in heaven. I am seemingly completely fucked, but it can't last: my 'insanity'. In the end, the fools who are insane will be punished. My cretin family.

Callo has fullfilled his kosmic mission. He was a son of man. Then he was the holy spirit. Now, he is Callo. He struggles with himself: humanity. As Callo gets older, questions he does ask: questions about himself. He realizes that it matters ero what people think. We realize one must constantly be in tune with one's thoughts. Callo is a musician: everywhere he comes, he makes beautiful tunes and so on. It seems I am friendless. But I do try my best. The horrors of daily life, clearly, do burden me. It is clear there are certain irreversible parts of the human psyche. We notice that evil, in the past, led to horrors, pain. But now, friends, I have seen, evil has become discommunication. Callo sees that people have limited minds, that don't have the capacity to be free. Good people find out what people mean. Some lost this capacity, either through sin, or through evolutionairy processes. Callo sees that this, then, leads to natures that are inhuman – irreversibly. An animal can't be human, but has a simple humanity. A humanoid, then, doesn't have this anymore – instead, one has simplicity. We see that such beings, dear attentionate rone, can't necessarily do evil. Instead, they behave differently out of principle. In their brains there is not – yet – a difference, but their libido and thanatos are changed: therefore, there evolution is different.

Callo sees that we shouldn't hate such creatures. They are not inferior. I tell you, friend, that loving people is so very important. Even the inhuman ones. Humanity, like salt, can be sprinkled on them like on everyone: Callo realizes it will make them just like and fall, but it cannot change their desires. So, humanity can be explained away. I see that evolution just continues. The principles of humanity, still, always, exist – nothing change. The right term, then, for these humanoids is dependendon how they see themselves. I, Callo, am imprisoned by, what Callo calls: mensen. I tell you, it just means Mensch just like in German, but mensen call themselves mensen as meaning, well, that they are. Their whole life is really entertainment. But they, occasionally, are curious. They enjoy learning. Callo sees that it is complete: their change is irreversible. But they are physically identical to humans, for now. From this, Callo gathers that for them, they must live very spiritually. Truly I tell you, they are useful beings. However, they refuse to be useful. My dear friends, I do think they are quite stubborn. But this is a quality: these people have no quality. Their companies are quite succesful though. The best of all is, God is with us: their physical similarity to us makes it a matter of choice, whether one evolves as a mens or a mensch or anything. We see, then, that the basic idea about humanity _is _spiritual. However, I see that the human race, if it is to survive, must fear God and keep his commandments, and that the mensification of humanity is a product of sin – an inevitable consequence. I will tell you, then, that faith is necessary, not trust. We must have faith in democracy, for if we are too pragmatic, we become desensitized monsters. I tell you true, as a survivor, a living human, that it takes sin for a human to destroy his humanity; but Jesus and I, Callo, are forgiving. I wonder then, if we can get mercy from the authorities for poor sinners who lose all humanity. I know we will, because they treat us in kind. It is individual.

With this under our cover, we can utilize one or two things, that will bring us knowledge. Callo is accused of mental illness. Callo sees that we must determine this, also, in a conversation, because we don't know if it is true. In a way, man, the universe is turning against us. My friend, Algo, told me, that time waits for everyone. I am not worried, just bored, because we can't know. But we must be cautius that we don't lose track of the truth. A fellow inmate told me that living is a kind of Death. This truly indicates a positive attitude towards life and teaches us to bear with the long waiting. I see then that the human is not simply a machine. We, the famous historians, are merciful. The being around me, seemingly obsessed with work, are totally different than me. I will tell you, then, how we must regard these people: they only live for dancing. Man therefore must worry, I guess, to wonder if the dance of these is really machanical (not mechanical) or more just what these people do. I don't know, people, if I should call them lunatics, but it kind of seems a nice framework; the people have, after all, delight in stuff, in inanity and so on. To Callo it seems, though, that there is the time element. These nice, surely, are a prototype for a time element. We get, Callo thinks, a good dose of power in however if we can master these people – and humanity, as the beauty of the world, will certainlty lord over these fine people. My teacher Derco said, that we must believe that there can be a strict, rigorous politeness, that is based on us regarding their beauty, and ugliness, also. How do we recognize these people? It is easy: the time element is as universal as human nature; the logical consequence is that simple humanity is not simple. We see immediately understand that simplicity, then, still harbours a lower, but more complex, distorted humanity, that we can understand in time. So, people can delight in this, because they are the product, but not the perpetrators of sin; and so, they will seek complexity as a rule in society. Clearly, though, it is a very slow process. I tll you though that it has become inevitable due to whole generations of sinners. I don't mean though, that these people are 'believers' in complexity. They just desire their own alterity in an inexplicable, totally fundamental sense. I guess then they are then still human beings. They are. There is just, at this point, the factuality – inevitable – that they will evolve into something else. Me and the cats. Me, I am really cat-like, and my simple humanity is superior to everyone around me. But only because I am so very smart, yes. We realize that we should call no man father. Ich bin ein Deutscher.

God, this truly was a painful struggle. I am free in the knowledge of having Elsweyr, my home.

So I take this short excursion. Where does Elseweyr lie? Truly, it is in adventure, in journeying, in the distant world. Elseweyr... but more than that, it is a feeling that I have, when I think of my home in Deutschland.

Ah ai ja – so must _time _has passed, I lose track of time, everywhere it haunts me, the liar, Maiq the Liar. He wrote Mein Kampf, true, I am reading his memoirs. Friends, just reading it slowly driving me into, what I believe, is sanity. I am afraid I told a lie. These words, sicher, I write them and I never lie.

But I said that, Maiq, and you that it isn't really the whole story. I wish to do what everybody does, but it seems I have lost track of everything – it is very strange, because I know, always, where I stand.

True, the constant pressure of Kajitt society have put their strain on poor Callo. But I am not bothered in the slightest. Everyone I know seeks the utmost – I don't. Really, I, Callo, don't work for nothing. So, signing my name is an in itself, and si, maybe I will sign this writing. But I, Callo, don't need to sign anything, because I am tired, tired of being abused, destroyed, hurt and maligned.

The caravan was never very good for me. I, Callo, was also there, maligned. Oh, I am very much, so very afraid of these powerful cages, built by human beings, but never really finding out the truth, Lord. I say this, Jesus Christ, that noble God, which we serve in Deutschland – Gott mit uns. I said it before, dear attentive ones, but why, no, Callo can't tell. Please, don't misunderstand poor Callo – we never really meeted with the named Khajitt – everyone claims he was a Cat. Jesus, who was Belgian they say – truly, a place to live it seems. Yeah, I've been everywhere, even in Belgium. And there, Callo visited La Traviata in the operatic theatre, very great. It proved to me how eternaly constituted mankind is. But it won't last: the power of God is so great, that they nasty culture of the enemy, the devil, will gain ground eventually, but it is God's will. We see though that it won't be a big deal, because it's weak. I love the English, because they are a vauable nation. We must strive hard to do what we can to become better. We must understand the international ideal. I realize now the complexity of the genome, the all, the whole. I wish to get out of here. We can't just do one or other. It seems like the world is made the world by rediculous, horrible retributive acts, who are ultimately blameless: it's not fair. I really don't know what this is – it is a total travesty. The crisis has passed, now I finally realize. People. People. These PEOPLE. I can't think. Callo finds that everybody treats him, I can't think, I can't think, I can't think. He finds that everybody treats him, frankly, like he doesn't matter – virtually everybody. And that means, frankly, nothing. I say, then, that the crisis has passed: as Callo lay in his bed, he realized, at some point, the effect that people had on him: none. My whole life I haven't had to relate to anyone. As a consequence, Callo can't make connections. With nobody have I ever made any connection: all I communicate to and with is people's life, their logic. I am in a unique position: all my friends are in high places, because logic connects us. I only know their arguments, then. I don't know anything. I realize that everybody around me is just a marionet of some higher authority.

I see now, then, that the best moments in my life were when I played my piano. None of the deceit and trickery mattered then, and my friends catched my light, as I played. Everything I have said and done, all of it, has been turned to dust by the word. I don't know why. I see then that humanity is a time bomb. I am the most important person ever, the most powerful, but it doesn't make a difference to me. I don't want to spend time with girls. I don't want to learn. I don't want to write books. It is clear to me now, that people don't remember. When they were born, they felt all that pain – and yet, everything they do is meant to cause each other pain. I realize, then, that the purest logic is preferable to any torture. We realize how easy it is to not be cruel. People lie, people kill, people bully, only to torture me. I can barely contain my anger sometimes, because to me, it doesn't matter. Clearly, what happens is that people just don't communicate. All this simply because of vanity. I guess. But the truth is that I don't know. The funny part is, that this vast history of violence ended in a single crisis-moment of overwhelming meaninglessness, it's over now. I meant nothing. I barely realized I worte that sentence. The truth is people just fear that which they don't understand and try to destroy it. Marlo, my dear, dear friend, claimed a smile was a great smiling. Isn't it clear what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger? that is the root of vanity. I am now so powerful that people don't hurt me anymore. Above all, don't lie to yourself. My capacity to project people's self-deception from affecting the way they treat me. All those wasted years...

And so I sit here. Waiting. You're wondering whether Marlo, Blalo, Maiq et cetera, who am I? As the time passes, I can barely do what's necessary to progress. The love I feel for a great many living things, is like a red, red rose. Here, at the edge of the world, I have come bring love (and comfort) to those lost souls. The world is weird, sometimes – I am here for Deutschland. The hills, the forests – the German volk and republic. If there is something worth fighting for, certainly it is for something good in the world. Or, if its worth dying after, Lord, certainly it is the futile struggle for some good. So, my fellow inmate was right: I am dead, as I am here, meaningless, gone – invisible, forgotten, dead. It truly seems life is utterly meaningless. But my knowledge of fear is passing. I feel that we are progressing. The empire of despair is dead too.

I was a member of the SS under Mankar Cameron. Praise be. We never knew that we should've said: Hallelujah! - but then, the time had not yet come, for Mehrunes Dagon. In the darkness, I had silently acknowledged the services of other Gods, Anubis. Yet, even then, true, there shone a daring light, piercing the darkness. My friend Blabo, I said his name just now, he shone that light for me. He is bravery itself, even though he is not a warrior. I tried to live as a warrior. You, wonder, Callo wonders, the full measure of the law. The idea is that crime is bad – it is. So we try to be as rational as possible. The law allows for terrible things. But at least is doesn't allow murder. I realize then, that all creatures desire freedom. But not everyone is capable of realizing being. Such is our grief, that we have to believe everything people say. Even though we don't. The greatest rewards truly come to those who can practice virtue: especially, in my experience, patience. And so, I have begun to live differently. I see and intuit, in them, broken hearts. I am not at all bothered: kings are everywhere. My heart has been broken countless times.

Writing puts my mind on other things. Virtue is such an important thing, in learning. The evil fear it; the wise seek it; the strong respect and value it. Callo has always sought to practice virtue, but couldn't see it in others. Goodness is overrated. When we are confronted with evil, patience demands that we don't overreact with our emotions. I claim that virtue, in all its forms, is the only benefit that is eternal. As I continue writing, I do almost sense a relative freedom, not so much in being here, but in my access to eternity. Little is accesible to me right now, but in time, surely, I can enjoy myself. As an Imperial might say: can't we all just get along? Murder kind of says so; wa is not necessarily murder, but clearly it is still war; if we can't just get along, surely the future will be murder. After all, if it is not war, murder is the way to peace. Thank God for the state; thank God for the law. Indeed, the future will bring lawlessness, but truly, it will never exceed murder, preferably of girls. Women destroy virtue with their 'wisdom', their 'rules', but they can't live without virtue. So, they end up, in fact, dead. God knows her movements are killing me: all we can do is pray for wisdom. I, Callo, realize that one can only be good as a ideal form of oneself, Lord. The useful is ultimately the final category that pertains to all good men. So it is logical to demand death to women, if they are useless; women are absolute evil because they cannot be useful as themselves. I, Callo, am dogmaticabout this, because women are so violent in their cruelty, and you end up scarred. I, Callo, truly have only through great personal turmoil found out the truth, truths that I, Callo, was blind to, but also, that were intentionally obscured for me, by others. We cats, we Khajitt, we live in uncertainty; even though we strive so hard for it. As I said, Jesus is Lord in my so very unreligious life. I, Callo, see that Christ is meant for the uneducatd, and I say Jesus with the most cat-like of cares. It is possible for a good man to be evil. We realize the man who says anything, because we can't deal with the cruel. I tell it to one's friends, we don't need cruelty. I, Callo, solmenly state that the law exists, in fact, for all humanity, but does exclude the evil on so many counts, man. It can't work. This poor one, Callo he's called, si, I live in severe uncertainty, and yet, I can't get arond any of it. Man. I, Callo, read much, to learn my facts, but I really barely know anything, because I don't need help, and I don't need to hear: it is what it is. Truly, we are totally given over to what I, Callo, would say is: idiocy, when, friends, we are controlled by thoughts that we really can't explain or reduce, let alone, for they are irrational, make entirely sensible. Am I really someone, friends, who has zero sensibility? My total relevance to all is, I believe, no. God knows, then, that I learned the hard lesson of the perfection of logic. The ship of word-based language can only lead us forward through simpleness. But the cultivation of virtue lies in the constancy with which we cultivate words, for we must cultivate our garden. I know, friends, that the learning of wisdom resides in the words: you know it resides in the words. So Callo is oppressed, but he knows the words.

I feel not very oppressed. It is because I don't do enough to be the victim of oppression. Lord, I know that my work totally exhausts me. It seems there is never any rest for me. People are after me all the time, and that is exhausting, but it rarely matters. I, Callo, read much, and so I learned. But it is truly only through incessant application of the mind that I can survive. But I remind you of the words of my fellow inmate, that we are basically dead here. That is an encouraging thought. This place is too frigid, too lonely to be life, and it is, therefore, unconnected to life: therefore, we don't have to think about survival. I see that we have to favour the right, as Ri'shaad said. There is an old Khajitt saying: your worth is like breathing salty water. I see it applies to fundamentally everything. I, Callo, know really that the sensibility for cat-like humans is different than those of the great masses. I, Callo, realize that, indeed, I am surrounded by the horrors of the day. As a cat, truly, I live better during night-time: truly, my life is nocturnal. I, Callo, tell you the truth: namely, that means, then, describing what occured steadfastly in the right terms. Jo'dheer, so valuable, my friend, he said: the whole is always part of the truth. And he suffered, as he thought about it – all alone in the danger zone. He was so brave, when Jesus was being crucified, truly, he just lived on. Danger zone.

Obviously, I can't do it, or rather, I can't do it right. It is hard to relate to people. Still, the world is very easy to properly see, clearly. This occupation, of writing, is activity. Man, it really seems that it just never stops. Of course, that's not true. I may be a sole survivor of an order that never existed, the Mythic Dawn, but at least I can tell true from false.

The time is so fascinating. Every second passes very gently. They break up the harmonious sense of any dayness. Ironic, my activity is dependend on the passing of time, in a way, just because no virtue comes to time-wasters. But of course, Callo's time is being wasted. Horrible, horrid time-wasters! In this day, so lonely, I, Callo, participate in this non-life that they cook up, whilst we hope and prat for being released. I suffer from being oppressed – everybody is after me, now and in the past, just because I desire freedom. These people deem me their slave because I, Callo, have dreams; they only have dry, senseless thoughts, that they concoct in their filthy, foul smelling ape heads. I did what I did out of _free will_. What that means, Lord, only God could explain to a _Free Man_. I, Callo, see that, truly, God has made my heart faint. Callo's life was lonely, sick, oppressed, painful, meaningless. All this because I, Callo, was on a divine mission. God makes us do his will through, I believe, rationally determining what to do. When people bother us with lies, rational thought becomes necessary for survival. My teacher said that this must ultimately lead us into 'hyphenation' – the constancy of suffering through reason. However, I, Callo, am the father of an exuisite scheme, that works on principles that few really understand. As I write this book, in some ways, I am leading up to that final flourish of heroism and heroic closure, that in this case, existentialism, make a truth out of my suffering. Because, oh Pdaulo, life is very much spend wastedly on suffering. So often we are lonely, my friend, Pdaulo. It is harder, so much harder, when we realize that Pdaulo is dead. He too, like me, fought for a better world, yet waiting for one's life to begin – even perhaps after death – is very painful, but a dull, meaningless, boring pain. Pdaulo is dead. I, Callo, keep remembering Jesus. The old Gods, Akatosh, Stendar, we don't see their total religion any more – no. Remembering Jesus. These people have their job to do. "Do you really think I could be a good masseur?" The basis of our life is what we we believe ourselves to be. We realize that no matter who you are, if we know (each to their own) something, this can help us believe to be that we are – emancipating us. I see then that evil is nothing, because if we are surely determined to be utterly useless, everything we do is, forever, to mean that nothing, because if we are surely determined to be utterly useless, everything we do is, forever, to mean that nothing happens – the black hole. Nothing Changes. Here I, Callo, become metaphysical, because nothing changes to me indicates the white hole. Today then, Lord, I think back of my little son who died of hypothermia, long ago. He was a scientist, like me, who explored, in his work, as a scientist, the effect and affections that are caused with cynicism. To escape the horrible pain caused in us by cynics, we flee to ice worlds. The great powers of the world will, out of sick interest, send their probes to obstruct us – we flee. Indeed, we are hiding all away. German boy, you have to remember that you are German. The battle for the republic is waged by a German. Now, it seems, we are made to do what we can to get into the saddle. The truth is that we are only capable of saving the human race through strength. I tell you, then, you don't need to think at all. The key to realizing everything is to feel. When all you can do is waiting. My coherent progress is ultimately, dependend on all you can do. I, Callo, have therefore become smart enough to hope for the best: optimism. I feeling is all I am doing. My son, Ollo, believed in Germany. I, Callo, told Ollo I was his father, which he struggled with all his life. It is about family. I heard non-scientists speak of conviviality, and contrasted their statements with those of someone from the Arcane University on this, and it was so cynical! Ollo is a good boy. I am proud of Ollo. Now that he's dead, everything is meaningless. We can always just feel. I feel that it is a great crime to believe one thing or other, and so much cruelty is passed off as advice. I, Callo, have had a good understanding with my friend: he is a mystic, using magic from that school, and he works so well, even though he can be inconsiderate, a very bad trait; his work is his life, though, and he is a genius. I, Callo, my whole life I have been so lonely, and yet, yet... truth be told, I've seen people behave like animals, hurting others, laughing at other's misfortune – horrors. The hard part of my life is that nobody really wants you to live, as Sheda, a girl from Elsweyr, once said: and I say this is in a much solemn tone, I say it with solemnity. I travelled in Skyrim and saw how strong their attitude is in everything, truly. They do absolutely everything better than the other countries. Just imagine. I realize that true strength comes from understanding, true wisdom from conceptualization; purely spoken, though, these things are so very difficult to understand conceptually. I realize that there is always an conceptual. I, Callo, misspell, misread, mislead. But I don't lie. These... creatures that have imprisoned me, they are other than humans. Remember the words of the famous The-one-who-reads-nothing-really: They are callous, bureacratic and the most unpleasant creatures in the galaxy. I, Callo, call them: Vogons. The low lands, where they live, are no longer German and perhaps, they never really were: Vogonium. Belgium, to the South, is truly a pleasant, or rather, good place to be. Good friends. Jesus, they say, was born in a manger – truly, a wonderful tale. For I was born in nowhere, but the heart of the world, that gives me a drive, was created fundamentally in the infinite Earth. I don't like sand. We realize that nations are pretty much total. My birth was violent: I killed my twin brother in the womb. Then, the womb that conceived me, belonged to a Vogon! Truly, a horrible fate, for you don't know, that they are Vogons. And that you aren't. The next thing that happened was this horrible, continuing nonsensicalit, endless bullying, but above all cruel abuse. It seems we are so very afraid of everything. But I am entirely unafraid. I am more or less fundamentally tolerant to everything people fear. I, Callo, can't stand doing nothing. The thing that imparted me most, however, is that it is the most logical to do nothing! Yet, the truth is more complicated. Patience. I, Callo, realize then that we can't just think the way we feel: we also need to really think, but not really! You will realize there is the a fool-proof to think: tautology. But by God, it is only because, my Lord, Jesus, we don't know, but somehow never feel bogged down by ignorance. Yet our ignorance, apparent in everything, is a big problem, practically and often morally, if people lose sight of the truth is that I can barely destruct. We get things, we do. We get so much, yet, the limits are also obvious. This is the truth. I use words to think, but thoughts can hardly fullfill its task when strictly logical – so, we have to go beyond logic.

True, my grandfather, who was a shaman, always subtly emcouraged me to clear my mind, usually by confronting me with situational and confrontational encounters with good and evil. He taught me the dangers of love. You can't figure anything out scientifically if you mind is not calm, at peace. God knows that we can't stop evolution. Callo lives so austerly, but I know my decisions weighed heavily on everyone, yet they were never wrong, because of the inevitable meaninglessness of them, alltogether. But even though they were cripplingly meaningless, I am not useless. Frankly, I love on through my music. The things I did were meaningless, because I couldn't make good on them, in the eyes of others. I suffered. I am the spirit of music. This makes me forever, the most powerful being in the universe, after God. But the cross that I bear, the death that I live, makes me worry, in a way. I don't want to suffer pointless cruelty, not even if it kills me. It really seems to me that we can't do too much in life. Bravery, for me, is the most complicated virtue: it do too much in life. Bravery, for me, is the most complicated virtue: it comes to me naturally, because it inheres for a great part in being unfeeling. Even though I am sensitive, I very rarely ingage in deep feeling. Philosophically, certainly, feeling has zero meaning, but religiously, frowning and scowling are the only religious expression, when it comes to bravery, because true bravery is truly spiritual. We can always feel: it can improve our quality of life. But the question really is, as J'Ghasta, a friend, said: what _is _it? - the stressing of that middle word, does make us wonder, and grants an openness to being. So, we need to cultivate J'Ghasta's 'metaphysics of Quality', for he felt deeply when he perfected not only the virtue of his word, but also, his knowledge. J'Ghasta, I believe, was the first to properly – non-ironically – use this word 'metaphysics'. For we realize the proper use of this word is as feeling logically. Keeping an open mind is certainly a form of honesty. True, people fear this. They fear the things they don't understand, and truly feeling, they don't understand. I claim, though, that the logical perfection of words on an individual scale is crucial for insight, and that feeling can do little to improve our thinking. The funny and perhaps, truly ironic part, is that it is easily solved, again by embracing the word.

True, before I joined The Mythic Dawn, I had been to Morrowind with J'Ghasta. He was working for extremist, sick members of the Morag Tong; later, I heard rumors he had joined The Black Hand. I, Callo, killed many, even women. Murder. The report, of the judge, claimed I wanted to punish women...

Lies! I, Callo, I need nothing, want nothing! My life is but one thing: murder, above all by others, of myself and my children! Leo, my friend – Leo said this. He is also dead. I know I take insults very personally, sometimes. You do it to yourself. Yet I am in control of my emotions. Truly, I have become who I chose to be. They tortured me. You think, he is Khajitt – I can't fully, completely understand. But why am I human? It is a perfect question to ask: these great words, why, I, am, but, human... and? So here we sit, writing sentences: the Force sustaining us, Lord. For it is is clear. We understand our own humanity: the subject. For truly, we wonder: 2 + 2 = 4 We realize, then, through the factor of existence: little German boy, being pushed around. We realize that it is never hard to make sense. I am convenced then of the logic of what is it. True, the problem is that we aren't dead yet. Jesus Christ! Truly our freedom is so often determined, but not is the _philosophy _explained. I realize, then, that the human being is time. I, Callo, do see that there is. Now, we realize that many things are irreversible but there is a way out of any sticky situation. If you think it's gonna rain it will. I deem myself a good citizen. The guards never hold me or talk to me. The republic. In the end, it is simple enough: just pass the time.


	3. Chapter 3

To the Reader:

This writing was mine, and it took me time. True, I am not famous, but I live still as I am writing this, and I hope you understand, how much I have done.


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